That's right, defense - check. I can now sign all my thank-you notes as: Name, M.Sc. If I was prone to d-baggery that is. But it isquite awesome to be done. And the night of my success was celebrated w/ friends while sporting my brand new t-shirt created by a fabulous lovie:
"That's MS Master if ur NASTY"
That's a Janet reference if you didn't catch it:
And of course the back:
"ANSC Hottie"
"ANSC" is acronym for Animal Sciences because that's what my degree is in. We embrace our nerdiness to its very core. And of course "Hottie" is acronym for me. ...Ha. Hahaha. Sigh, I love when I crack myself up.
As you can imagine, there was a whole lot of this:
"No my name ain't baby. It's Stacey. Ms Masta if ya nasty!"
as the night and gin-induced haze became thicker.
Obviously I now have too much time on my hands, allowing my to tinker with my webcam. It's unfortunate that after all that tinkering I was still unable to take a decent photo... Alright, gotta go get my nasty groove on.
3. A professional activist - not the kind that just holds the picket signs and yells absurdities while tied to a tree; the bad-assery kind that actually gets things done, i.e. Harvey Milk-style or MLK, Jr.-style
4. A nomad - ...I don't have an example for this one
5. An author - honest, intelligent, eye opening, made me laugh, made me cry, didn't want it to end-style
So if no other good comes of writing this thesis, at least it has provided me with sufficient voids of procrastination to be filled with grandiose explorations into various websites. This greatly speaks of the pure quantity of procrastination going into this endeavor, because I usually don't have nearly enough energy to force myself to focus on items I've dubbed inconsequential to my survival (say, for example, tacos) for more than a few seconds, minutes max. But place a daunting task in front of me involving hours of sitting and reading and ruminating and writing and deleting and rewording and more ruminating, and apparently I'm all ears (Figuratively speaking of course, as I am typically reading these items-by-which-to-procrastinate.).
Here I will provide you with some recent developments (Hold on to your hats!):
Upon coming across this I initially, and understandably, thought, "Ah, how nice to finally receive some recognition." Much to my dismay, however, the author has failed to devise a post about me.
No, but seriously, how adorable is that song and its story? I usually gag in response to matters this adorable, but this one may have actually caused me to squeal in delight.
TWO (and a half).
This trailer:
Because I particularly love watching awkward social situations played out onscreen; second only to seeing them played out in real life.
Oh, and this delicious film of awkward is about the going-ons of Davy Rothbart and his FOUND magazine, which also proves to be quite entertaining.
(One and two were discovered whilst carousing the new PostSecrets.)
Thrice. This guy has multi-strain resistant TB that he contracted while tramping around S America. He's been in quarantine since December 9, 2009 and has since been dutifully providing us with online entertainment. Plus he's Australian which takes me back to my days in Brisbane, by the ocean, drinking boxed wine, not writing a thesis...
You should watch this one: Life in Quarantine
Or this one: F* you, I'm a Ukelele
They're prob my faves.
Quatro.
This song rawks:
Apparently this vid is a recent remake though (which has left snobby music fans with their panties all in a twist (according to youtube comments)...perhaps I'll post a rant about obnoxious music snobs some other day.), but you can check out the original one here: bad-assery. I must admit to enjoying the original better; though that doesn't mean you have to. Regardless, I dare you not to wave your hands around as you shimmy your hips to this one.
Finito:
This post has made me realize that I've failed to post much original material lately; recent posts have mainly equated to synopses of others' talent (Let me say post one more time: post.). Sigh, that makes me sad.
Today showed promise...When I was successful in dragging my miserable bum away from the warm embrace of my bed. And then again when I fortuitously found a parking spot closer than Norway to my office building.
Then I dropped my coffee mug. I hoped as I finished parking that the vice-like lid safely stored the coffee within. Instead it broke. And coffee seeped out to form a nice tan puddle about my feet.
Then I was walking to the office and I lost the top of my muffin. It just fell off somewhere; I looked down and all I saw was the dismembered bottom half of a sweet potato muffin.
As I continued walking both of my shoes came untied. I didn't stop to tie them because it was raining and uncharacteristically cold for October. So as I walked both shoes loosened until they were slipping off my heels and making that awesome clip-clop horse sound on the sidewalks. Of course this led to one sock sliding down my foot until it came to a perfectly annoying bundle in the front of my shoe.
Did I mention it's raining?
I need to go back to the Oldsmobile and rest with it in our glorious parking space.
I would like to inform all (two) of you loyal readers that I am still alive and well after my previous post; you can call off the suicide watch. I was PMSing. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. And while I do indeed continue to detest my grad student status; I'm going to keep muddling through until I come out on the other end as a scientist (*snicker snicker*).
Does happiness count when it exists only in the presence of other ppl? I used to have the joy of a frolicking school boy on the jungle gym with only recess left in his school day. Now I don’t even know if I have happiness.
When is it acceptable to make the announcement that you’ve reached your limit with something? That there can be no more pushing forward? No more persevering? No more killing yourself to strive for something that is just not worthy of your strife? And what if you really did die over such things? Would ppl see that as a worthy death? Would they proclaim at your funeral that you were a passionate, motivated girl who persevered in times of adversity and shared her joy and love of life with others? I think even hearing those words would cause tears to fall from my corpse’s eyes; they’re so untrue anymore.
How often is normal to wish to die? Once a month? A week? Twice a month? When do you call truce w/ your pitiful soul and start telling ppl you’re depressed and begin medicating to numb the dull? Are you supposed to tell ppl these feelings? If I confide in you are you going to empathize w/ me? Or are you going to hold my hand and try to console me? Don’t hold my hand.
How is it possible to lose oneself so much? I know that some drops of my essence have evolved for the better…but was it worth losing my passion and perseverance, my joy and frolicking abilities? When do I get to say, “I’m done.” Cut all of the ropes and let me fall. I do nothing but piss my time away here anyways. Piss my time away and be angry. Anger is my default setting..Is anything worth that?
How do you know if your feelings are warranted, or if you’re just being pathetic, feeling sorry for yourself?
Is it possible, in a quest to find yourself and happiness, to parasitically squeeze the life out of everything that you once loved? Until those cherished fixations become hated addictions? Or just simply hated? How long can you continue on in such a form? And when you finally fall and come to a merciful respite in your life, will anyone understand? Or will they simply look upon you with the judging eyes of pity? Or disdain?
How do you pick yourself back up? Peel yourself off the pavement, mend the brokenness, and discover a different direction worthy of your tears and toil.
But this direction wouldn’t steal the being from you or selfishly suck the life from your grasps. It wouldn’t only be tears, and work, and perseverance; it would also be gratifying to the life you devote to it. When do I get to do this? Why not now?
Allow me to introduce myself:
I'm a grad student. At the end of this tedious strife for a degree I will be a scientist.
Ha
Hahaha
That was me - laughing at the fact that the title of "scientist" could one day be applied to my individual. Haha
I'm mid-middle aged. I'm not quite old/gettin' up there yet, but not quite young. I'm more in that place of limbo where you're not certain what "age-appropriate" means anymore. You know, age-appropriate dress, age-appropriate behavior, age-appropriate language ... blah blah blah. I'm thinking that I fall into the "inappropriate" category more often than not.
I'm also a yoga instructor and running coach of sorts. However, these two vocations don't trigger laughter in me..they make me smile.
I'm not career-oriented. Zero orientation going on here.
Prob more accurate to say negative orientation going on.
I'd say I'm more... life-oriented. Ha, yeah, I like that. Of course it makes me sound like a complete hippie..ah well.
And this brings me to an explanation for my blog:
I was filling out the profile info and came to "Occupation". Scrolling through the choices my thought process went something like this: 'Boring, boring, boring, eww, ugh, lame.' And that's when I came to the choice of "Not Specified." Now this I like. Why do I need to be specified? Whatev, I won't be specified. Check out me, stickin' it to the man and going with "Not Specified." So now that's my username. And my blog title "Ambivalent" goes along the same line of thinking.
Plus I hate coming up w/ things such as usernames and blog titles, so each of these fits quite nicely for that reason as well.
Essentially, I find being a pseudo-scientist (Pseudo because I have yet to graduate, the second time.) quite mundane most of the time. And very hard to focus on.. For example: right now I'm blogging at my scientist-desk rather than science-ing at my scientist-desk.
Oh, and p.s. there's an adorable boy still retaining his new-car-smell in my office building; and cute boys never help to generate productivity.. Nor do blogs..
